'TIS madness to resist or blame As if his highest plot The cauld blue north was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din; Athort the lift they start and shift, Like fortune's favors, tint as win. By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, And by the moonbeam shook to see A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Attired as minstrels wont to be. Had I a statue been o' stane, His daurin' look had daunted me; And on his bonnet graved was plain, The sacred posy — Libertie! BURNS. And first could thresh the barn; Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; An' though forfoughten sair eneugh, Yet unco proud to learn! Even then, a wish (I mind its power), A wish that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave my breast — That I for poor auld Scotland's sake Some usefu' plan or book could make, Or sing a sang at least. The rough burr-thistle spreading wide Amang the bearded bear, I turned the weedin'-heuk aside, BURNS. Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. — Again! again! again! Then ceased-and all is wail, Outspoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave, Ye are brothers! ye are men! But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, Then Denmark blest our chief, As death withdrew his shades from the day; While the sun looked smiling bright Now joy, old England, raise! YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. YE mariners of England! The battle and the breeze: Your glorious standard launch again, And sweep through the deep, The spirit of your fathers Britannia needs no bulwark, Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, When the storm has ceased to blow; In both from age to age, thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen music, Liberty! There came a tyrant, and with holy glee Thou foughtst against him, but hast vainly striven; Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled maid, what sorrow would it be That mountain floods should thunder as before, And ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful voice be heard by thee! WORDSWORTH. SONNET. ALAS! what boots the long, laborious quest Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill; Or pains abstruse, to elevate the will, And lead us on to that transcendent rest Where every passion shall the sway attest Of Reason, seated on her sovereign hill? What is it but a vain and curious skill, If sapient Germany must lie depressed Beneath the brutal sword? Her haughty schools Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say, A few strong instincts and a few plain rules, Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought More for mankind at this unhappy day, Than all the pride of intellect and thought. WORDSWORTH. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men: A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it? -No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, |